


Perfect

by MarshmarrowSans



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Reader, Friendship, I use song lyrics to move the plot along just you try and Fucking stop me, Jealousy, Reader has a bf and he is infuriatingly nice, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmarrowSans/pseuds/MarshmarrowSans
Summary: Of course Sans wants you to be happy.He just didn't realize how much it would hurt to watch you be happy with someone else.





	1. Stab Me In The Soul, It's Okay

_The term **third wheel**  is inspired by fifth  **wheel** , referring to someone who is with, or in a company of, a couple; with the implication of being invited out of pity or in some other way being (or feeling) redundant…  
  
_This was the most depressing Wikipedia surfing trip Sans had ever been on.  He hadn’t thought of himself as a third wheel, up until now.  He thought that he was your best friend.  He was the one you third-wheeled _other_ people with.  
  
At least, he was one of your two best friends.  The other one was some shy kid (Sans thought of him as a kid, but really he was the same age as you) you’d known since childhood.  But that never bothered him—you were allowed to have as many friends as you wanted.  Hell, Sans even kind of liked the guy.  Out of habit, Sans liked to read people’s faces when he first met them, and often, most of the time, _all_ of the time, even with you, he saw some sort of façade there.  
  
With one exception.  
  
That _fucking_ friend of yours.  
  
He didn’t hide anything.  Not on purpose.  Everything about him, from his underlying depression and anxiety to his innocence and his love of the color yellow, was laid bare with no defenses, and doubtless ready to spill from his lips the moment he was questioned about any of it.  He wore his heart on his sleeve, and Sans couldn’t tell whether he respected that, was jealous of that, or worried about that the most.  Not at first, anyways.  
  
He’d figured it out now.  He envied it, so much that it sent his soul into an unpleasant, almost angry burn.  Sans wanted to tell you everything he thought, show you everything he felt.  He _wanted_ to.  But he _couldn’t._   He was so used to keeping everything under wraps, even things fairly inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, that when the time came that he wanted to be genuine with you, he came to the startling realization that he couldn’t be.  
  
“you’re my best friend in the world” turned to “you’re cool beans.”  
  
“you look beautiful” turned to finger guns and “haha nice.”  
  
“i think i might be falling in love with you” turned to “i got us these friendship bracelets from the dollar store so i guess you’re stuck with me now.”  
  
“i’m in love with you” turned to “of course i love you.  as a friend, i mean.”  
  
He didn’t just conceal the truth from you.  Stars, he _lied_ to you.  How could he do that?  When it came to literally anything else, he’d never lie to you, but when it came to this?  
  
He wasn’t strong enough to tell you the truth.  
  
But your _other_ best friend was.  
  
That was how he ended up being the one to dance with you at this concert the three of you went to together, while Sans sat a few feet away, browsing whichever Wikipedia articles were a Big Mood at the moment, on the towel laid out on the grass the two of you had long since abandoned in order to dance together.  
_  
I found a love for me  
Oh darling, just dive right in and follow my lead  
Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet  
Oh, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me  
  
_ The moment the slow, romantic song had started, you’d pulled your friend—no.  He was your boyfriend now, he had been for awhile, Sans had just tried to convince himself for the longest time that it wouldn’t last or it wasn’t real—in to dance with you, and as always, he’d yielded to you with that tiny, shy smile and blush of his.  You sank into each other’s arms like it was the most comfortable thing in the world, like it felt like going home where you stood for the two of you.  As you cuddled together close as could be, he’d wrapped his arms around your waist, and you’d thrown your arms over his shoulders.  Sans had to watch you hold each other like that and sway side to side.  
  
Childhood-buddy-turned-lover over here had to have feet twice the size of Sans’, yet without a single glance away from your smiling face, he managed not to step on your toes, not even once.  The two of you moved as one, effortlessly, leaving you able to focus all of your attention on each other’s faces, which were only inches away from each other.  
  
Slow dancing with you suddenly looked so much easier than Sans had always imagined it being.  
_  
'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love  
Not knowing what it was  
I will not give you up this time  
But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own  
And in your eyes, you're holding mine  
  
_ For awhile, Sans was convinced he’d never stood a chance in the first place.  This kid had been close with you since you were…  uh…  _actual_ kids.  And one of the first things that Sans had been able to discern from him and the way he acted around you was that he was helplessly in love with you.  He had a head start.   No matter how hard Sans tried, this kid would always be your right-hand man, because he’d been there since the beginning, and Sans had only come in much, much later.  
  
It almost made him feel a little bit better to tell himself that he never had a chance.  But one of a million things that broke his heart was the realization that that wasn’t true.  He _did_ have a chance.  He just blew it.  Because for all the time between when Sans met you and the day your now-boyfriend confessed to you, both of them had been stuck in exactly the same plateau.  The I-fell-in-love-with-her-so-fast-I-didn’t-even-know-it-happened stage.  The I-don’t-know-why-I-feel-so-different-around-her stage.  The she’s-my-everything-what-does-that-mean, scrolling-through-pictures-of-us-on-my-phone-at-3-am, wanting-to-hold-on-forever-when-she-hugs-me stage.  
  
The thing was, _he’d_ figured it out first.  While Sans was hiding things from you, _lying_ to you, dragging his lazy, complicated feet, _he_ was the one who called you to your old favorite frozen yogurt place and told you that he loved you in every way it’s possible to love a person, that looking back on it all, he’d always felt that way, and that it was alright if you didn’t feel the same, but he just had to tell you what he’d been holding in since forever, even if it made his palms sweat and his heart pound and his head dizzy.  
_  
Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms  
Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favourite song  
When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath  
But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight  
  
_ After that—after you came to him, squealing about the good news and your new boyfriend—Sans felt like he became a worse person.  He knew he should be happy for you, but he couldn’t bring himself to be.  
  
He knew he wasn’t supposed to be jealous, but he was.  
  
He knew he wasn’t supposed to be angry, but he was.  
  
He had no right to you.  He had no _goddamn_ right to something he never even asked for, something he’d even subtly turned away in the past, because he didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t realize he was feeling what he was certain, at this point in his life, after so long of never feeling a hint of it, he was _incapable_ of feeling.  
  
That was what made this more painful than anything.  He had to watch you, the one he loved, be figuratively and sometimes literally swept off your feet by another man, and he had absolutely no right to be angry about it.  He had so much frustration, so much hurt all bottled up inside him turning the metaphorical pressure gauge up to a thousand, and he couldn’t dare to vent it in the slightest.  If he said a word of it, he’d just be a bitter, jealous asshole who cared too much about what _he_ wanted to consider what was best for _you_.  
  
And it wasn’t like he didn’t spend a long time agonizing over what was best for you!  He’d been keeping his eye on this kid the whole time he knew him.  Searching for something, _anything_ wrong.  Something disingenuous, a fatal flaw, _any_ flaw.  Something that he could finally point at and say, _this is why he doesn’t deserve to be with you_.  He analyzed every action, every quirk, every facial expression.  He tried to find something to protect you from, as paralyzing as the guilt became when he realized that what he hoped to find was something in this other guy that would ultimately hurt you and destroy what little trust you have left.  
  
He tried.  
  
And he failed.  
  
Because when it came down to it, the cold, painful truth was that this kid was perfect for you.  He wasn’t perfect, period, of course—nobody is.  And he wasn’t perfect as in the ‘ideal man,’ either—he wasn’t muscular and athletic and toned, wasn’t confident and suave.  In fact, he was the opposite of all of those things—kind of awkwardly lanky and very shy.  But he was perfect _for you_.  He was genuine, and honest, with his heart worn proudly on his sleeve and not a single secret ever withheld from you, not even when it came to his own pain or other difficult topics.  He talked about his feelings openly with you.  He was sweet, and kind, and gentle, and humble, and loyal, and utterly devoted to you.  It was his nature—Sans didn’t have to glimpse at his soul (though he eventually did just to be sure) to know that he was a green-souled man, and so much of that kindness was diverted completely to you.  You were his world, and Sans was painfully aware of the fact that you needed a partner who would treat you as such—someone who would never miss the chance to remind you how important and loved you were.  Someone who spoke constantly of his dreams of marriage, a home, and having children together.  Someone who was so completely and obviously fixated on you that, even with all of your trust issues, you wouldn’t doubt for a heartbeat that he would follow you to the ends of the earth.  
  
Even though Sans wished—even _dreamed_ —that he could be like that with you one day, he knew deep down that he couldn’t, or at least certainly not to the extent that the other man could.  He loved you with all his heart, and he’d known for a long time that he’d always be with you as long as you wanted him, but his way of saying ‘I love you’ was puns and pranks and stray touches on your arm or shoulder.  His way of telling you that he couldn’t imagine a world without you anymore was to yell "parkour," jump on your back when you least expected it, and get you to give him a piggyback ride while he gushed to you about his latest scientific fixation.  He’d tried to tell you in words what he felt.  He’d _tried_.  But it managed to go wrong every single time.  He kept his feelings and thoughts so deeply buried for so long, it was like even he himself sometimes couldn’t find them anymore, let alone show them to you.  And he knew that _you_ knew he hardly ever left himself emotionally vulnerable.  He’d seen the heartbreak in your expression too many times, all those times he withheld from you what was going on inside his skull, to try and deny that his secrecy never hurt you.  What you didn’t know _did_ hurt you.  Why couldn’t he just be honest with you and admit that he was falling in love with you?  Why did it feel like pulling goddamn teeth just to open himself up to people?  He was so…  _broken_.  So terribly, terribly flawed.  
  
And it wasn’t like this other man wasn’t, but his flaws only made him a better match for you.  You played off of each other perfectly.  He was a bit slow with math and science, which was where you excelled.  He was shy and socially awkward, so you helped him make friends.  He was a bit overbearing sometimes and extremely emotionally dependent on you, but you enjoyed the attention and nevertheless helped him work towards a more healthy level of attachment.  You were a bit of a slob, he was a compulsive cleaner.  You balanced each other out.  You _fit_.  Like puzzle pieces.  
  
You and Sans were just…  the same.  Which sounded like a good thing at first—you were two peas in a pod.  You loved to pig out, eat disgusting mediocre food, watch funny videos and laugh at depression memes, gush about the latest in science, leave your rooms a total mess and never judge the other for doing the same.  But if the two of you were to spend your lives together?  In the same house, always, every day?  Even though that sounded like heaven to him, your mutual bad qualities would just add together, accumulate, instead of cancelling out.  Maybe you realized that about him, consciously or subconsciously.  No wonder you kept him at arm’s length, as a friend that you were allowed to walk away from sometimes when you got sick of him.  He knew he was selfish for asking for more, but he couldn’t help it.  He couldn’t just reason or wish away the pain he felt when he realized he loved you in a way that you didn’t reciprocate, no matter how ashamed of it he was, no matter how much he knew that he wasn’t allowed to be upset over losing you, because you’d never been his to lose.  
  
He knew it was always said that if you love someone, you have to let them go.  But why did nobody talk about how painful it was to do that?  His soul was reaching out to yours, constantly, and it felt like it was dying a little more each and every day your soul refused to reach back.  
  
And he knew why that was the case, and why it would never change.  
  
Because the very first time he glimpsed your now-boyfriend’s lime green soul, he also glimpsed its infrangible and completely mutual bond with yours.  He couldn’t break that, even if he was able somehow to throw aside his own integrity enough to try.  
  
But maybe true love was wanting the best for you even if it ended up hurting him like he’d never been hurt before.  Maybe true love wasn’t making himself not feel the pain, but letting it wash over him and accepting it, because it meant that you got what was best for you, even though _he_ wasn’t what was best for you.  
  
_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms  
Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song  
When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful  
I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight  
_  
So here he was, left with no choice but to watch another, better man dance with you, so close and so intimate it was like the two of you were constantly on the verge of kissing, but you loved each other so much you didn’t have to, you got the feeling across just by being so close.  The song was nearing its end.  This whole time, you’d been looking into each other’s eyes and never glancing away, smiling warm as the summer’s day, completely fixated, as you swayed in time with the music and turned in slow, slow circles.  
  
As it so happened, the two of you were turned at the moment such that Sans was looking at you from behind and your boyfriend—who towered over both of you at six-foot-fucking-four just to rub salt into the gaping wound in four-foot-seven Sans’ soul—was facing him, holding you in his arms.  As you tucked your head against his chest, he, for a split second, was left with nothing to look at.  
  
He ended up looking at Sans.  
  
He smiled.  Genuinely.  Not in a snotty way.  Not even the slightest bit smug.  It was a smile that said nothing but ‘I’m really happy right now.’  
  
And then he waved at him.  That awkward George Mc-fuckin’-Fly kinda wave.  That ay-you-have-the-right-of-way-but-you-just-let-me-pull-in-front-of-you-so-thanks-anyways wave.  
  
This was such a goddamn shitshow of a third-wheeling, you were _so oblivious_ to Sans and wrapped up in this other guy, that it was your boyfriend who remembered Sans was there and politely acknowledged his presence, not you.  
  
Maybe you’d finally stopped giving a shit about him.  What’s your annoying best friend worth anymore once you have a perfect boyfriend?  
  
Sans couldn’t take another moment of this.  Not without something snapping inside him and making him do or say something he’d end up regretting.  
  
Luckily, he’d made such a habit of seeming to blink in and out of existence when he was upset and trying to hide it that neither you nor anybody else ever questioned it when he suddenly disappeared.  It was just Sans being Sans again.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  He came and went as he pleased.  
  
You didn’t care.  
  
He teleported to his room and didn’t see you for the rest of the night, and the only text you sent him was a selfie with the lead singer of the band that had been performing, captioned _Awesome night!  Thanks for coming, skelly belly!_  
  
You really didn’t care.  



	2. And Twist The Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Did I say 2 chapters? I meant 3. I have once again defaulted to my 3-chapter format.
> 
> (I really only meant to write 2 chapters but it worked out really well as 3. Watch out for the 3rd chapter tomorrowww~)

_Basically Evan Hansen: Can we meet at that place you like, Grillby’s?  Got something important to talk about with you.  ( ◞･౪･)  
  
_ Sans had given your boyfriend his number before you ever started dating him, as a show of friendship…  or acquaintanceship.  Because in all the time since then, your boyfriend had never texted or called him.  
  
Until today, a few days after that concert you all went to together, with a message that would’ve made Sans piss his pants if he had the physical capability.  
  
As always, he kept those emotions to himself and replied with a simple _k_ , to which your boyfriend had responded with a suggestion to meet up at 3 pm, to which Sans responded with another _k_.  He wanted to say _fuck you and your kaomoji faces_.  But he said _k_ instead.  
  
Now he was sitting at Grillby’s, his usual turf, his home away from home, yet feeling like he was on trial, about to be called to the stand to testify.  
  
He tried to quell his jitters with a fresh, cold bottle of ketchup, but that only worked for him until your boyfriend showed up right on time and folded his tall form to sit on the stool next to Sans’.  
  
Sans felt like a little kid next to him.  Especially since your boyfriend’s feet actually laid flat against the floor, whereas Sans’ feet dangled and he had to keep them parallel to the floor to prevent his slippers from falling off.  
  
“heya,” Sans greeted, keeping his tone neutral as ever.  
  
“Hello!” And your goddamn brown noser boyfriend’s tone was as cloying as ever.  He was so fucking irritatingly _nice_.  “…  So, um.  I don’t even know where to start…”  
  
“i’d recommend the cheese fries.”  
  
“…  I mean, where to start talking about what’s going on.”  
  
Sans looked away, off in some random direction, rubbing the vertebrae of his neck with his hand.  He didn’t realize how much his palms were sweating until he did that.  Your boyfriend looked off in the opposite direction, twiddling his thumbs.  
  
The conversation had barely started, and it was already unbearably uncomfortable.  
  
“uh.  just hit me with it, pal,” Sans suggested with a shrug that betrayed nothing of how fucking tense he was right now.  “gimme the quickest summary you can.”  
  
“Ah.  Heheh.  Okay, well…”  
  
Sans knew the day would come when he heard what he was going to hear next.  But he wasn’t expecting it now.  He never could’ve been ready for it.  
  
“I’ve been saying this since I started dating her, but I think enough time has passed that she won’t think I’m crazy if…  I.  I’m.  I’m going to propose to her!”  He grinned like a madman and balled his hands into excited fists, like a little kid shaking in his seat.  “There!  I told someone!  It’s official!  It’s happening!”  
  
Sans felt like his soul was going to drop straight down into the depths of hell.  
  
He knew it was coming someday.  Someday soon.  
  
But nothing could’ve ever prepared him for it.  
  
He felt like his soul was getting crushed like a tin can in a hydraulic press.  
  
“awwwh.  that’s great news, pal.  well, congrats.  i’m sure that’ll make her real happy.  heh.  i always had a feeling about you two.”  
  
A feeling he wasn’t proud of.  
  
“Ah!  Thanks!  I just wanted to say…  it means so much to have your blessing.”  Your boyfriend giggled softly.  “Because…  I know.  Um.”  
  
Sans felt sweat on his brow and avoided looking him in the eyes.  What did he know?  
  
“I know we aren’t very close.  The two of us.  And, um.  We only really know each other through her, never spend any time together without her around.  Except for today, of course!  But this was just to talk.  Um.  But.  I guess.  I wanted to say…  I, um—”  
  
For the first time, just a little bit of that frustration slipped out, just enough for Sans to mumble, “spit it out, kid.”  
  
“S—uhhh.  Sorry.  I’m just trying to say I don’t…  have many friends?”  He smiled and blushed and twiddled his thumbs, perfect little goddamn sweet peach that he was.  “But I consider you a friend of mine.  Just because of how much you’ve done for her.  You’ve made her so happy, being her best friend and all, that it’s made me happy by extension, just from…  seeing her that happy?  And you’ve been so supportive of us.  Even though I know it’s annoying being around a couple sometimes.  So.  Thanks.  Friend…?”  
  
…  Was this asshole seriously going for a fist bump right now?  He was _actually_ holding out his fist for a fist bump right now, with a shaky smile on his lips.  
  
…  Sans gave him a little fist bump of acceptance.  
  
“neato.”  
  
“So we’re friends?”  
  
“yup.”  
  
“…  Then can I ask you for a favor?”  
  
Sans had been stubbornly looking away from him, at anything at all, even the broken jukebox, even as they fistbumped, until now.  Now, your boyfriend had earned an intrigued glance in his direction.  
  
“…  did you wanna be friends just to ask me to do a favor for you?”  
  
“N…  no.  I just thought…  well no.  They’re unrelated!”  This bastard kept twiddling his thumbs so much, Sans just wanted to reach over and wrench his hands apart to make him stop, it was driving him _crazy_.  “…  But, um, the favor.  It’s important.  I think I know what my girlfriend likes.  But this is one of the most important things I’ll ever do, and for the first time, it’s something I have to do without her guidance…  because.  Y’know.  Proposal.  Supposed to be a surprise.  So I want to make _sure_ I have it right.  And I thought you’d be a good source for a second opinion.”  
  
“…  a second opinion on what.”  
  
“Oh I’m sorry.  I thought I already said.  I’m so distracted right now because of—you know.  I’m sorry.  I want you to help me pick out a ring you think she’ll like!”  
  
Oh, wow, fuck you.  
  
“And also?  I’m preeetty sure she’s going to ask me to make you the best man at our wedding,” he grinned and nudged Sans with his elbow.  “Just so you’ve got a heads-up.  Maybe us boys can go pick out that ring _and_ a couple of suits in the same trip.  What do you say, eh, friend?”  
  
Fuck.  You.  
  
“sounds great.”  
  
*          *          *  
  
If there was anything Sans was good at, it was hanging back and letting somebody else take control of a situation, and that was pretty much all he did when he visited the mall with your boyfriend to go shopping for a ring and suits.  Much like when the three of you all went to do something together and he got third-wheeled, he ended up standing off to the side and letting your boyfriend just go and do his thing.  He, of course, went through ring after ring, bringing them over to Sans and asking him again and again…  
  
“Will she like this one?”  
  
“Ooh!  I think she’d like THIS one better than the last one, don’t you?”  
  
“This one’s got little gemstones in her favorite color.  But it’s also cheaper.  I don’t want her to think I’m being a cheapskate if I get her this one—do you think she’ll think I’m being a cheapskate if I get her this one?”  
  
“Because I’m not!  I’m really not.  I just think she’ll like it—it’s got the colors?—you know what, I shouldn’t risk it.  We need to find something that’s expensive AND colorful.”  
  
“Okay.  Having no trouble finding expensive ones.  Just having a bit of trouble with the colorful… component.”  
  
“…  Maybe we should try the next jewelry store?”  
  
Hell, Sans didn’t even have to say anything, this man really knew how to talk himself in circles.  Sans just stood there with his arms crossed and occasionally nodded his head yes or no.  
  
It had given him a _small_ sense of pride that this boyfriend of yours was coming to him of all people for a second opinion about what you liked, but that went away as soon as he realized that he didn’t have any better input than the rambling your boyfriend was going through on his own.  
  
Still, as the kid went on about wanting something both expensive and colorful, both subtle and a bit non-traditional, a thought occurred to him.  
  
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but…  
  
“have you ever heard of soulstone rings?”  
  
Sans asked the question kind of jarringly, as the two of them were browsing an entire case of boring plain diamond jewelry.  
  
“…  Um.   No?  Tell me about it.”  
  
“ah.  it’s just this monster thing.  a lot of us monsters have our engagement and wedding rings made outta soulstone.  it’s like those cheap little mood rings but it’s pretty rare and expensive and instead of simple heat-sensitivity it actually turns the color of your soul.  no shit.”  
  
You boyfriend didn’t give a _shit_ about looking at those diamond rings anymore.  
  
“That’s…  that’s amazing!  That’s _perfect_!  That’s exactly what I want, _yes_!  Where do I get her one?!”  
  
This wasn’t fair.  It was supposed to go like this.  
  
“…  i’ve got one.  a hand-me-down from my mom after she passed away.  i was s’posed to—y’know what they always say when a ring like that gets passed down to someone’s son.  but the thing is i’m never gonna use it, so.”  
  
Not anymore.  
  
“Oh…  Oh, but I couldn’t,” your boyfriend insisted, voice soft and sympathetic.  “That ring must be very special to you.  I mean, it’s your mother’s, and what about if you meet someone and—”  
  
“trust me.  _trust me_.  that ain’t happening.”  He crossed his arms over his chest, subtly hugging himself, squeezing the ribcage sheltering his crying soul, as if that might make it stop.  “i want her to have it.”  
  
Fuck.  _Fuck_.  He meant to say ‘I want you to have it.’  
  
Luckily, the sentiment came across just the same.  Your boyfriend wrapped him in a tight, appreciative hug, lifting him up all the way on to the tips of his toes.  
  
“Thank you,” he told him sincerely.  “I’ll let her know that you gave us that ring.  We both appreciate it.  You’re the _best_ , Sans.”  
  
“bro.  you’re really tall.  you’re picking me up off the ground right now.  can you just—”  
  
He set him back down on his feet.  “Right.  Sorry.”  
  
“’sfine.  and you’re welcome.  the ring’s in my room.  buried in some drawer somewhere.  i’ll dig it out tonight, bring it over to ya in the morning.”  
  
For now, they had to go pick out those suits.  
  
Maybe that was a bit premature, but then, both of them already knew that you were going to say yes.  Your boyfriend loved you, and you loved him, and you’d been together for a really long time.  You needed each other, wanted to be together forever and were more than prepared to take on that level of commitment.  Neither of them doubted any of that.  They both knew how this story would end: with a ring on your finger and his, and with Sans cheering along with the rest of the crowd in the background.  
  
Only Sans knew about the part where he was going to curl up on his mattress after all that and think about all the times he could’ve changed that ending.  
  
All the times he could’ve turned to you and said what he was feeling.  
  
All the times he could’ve actually given you one of those love letters he started to write and then furiously threw into the trash tornado because it was too cringey.  
  
All the times he could’ve kissed you.  
  
But would you have even wanted it the way you wanted your boyfriend?  
  
Would you _let_ a little trash-goblin skeleton who fit perfectly into a suit he found in the Target kids’ section kiss you?  
  
Probably not.  
  
And if you did, it probably would’ve been out of pity, and out of fear that doing otherwise would end the great friendship you had going.  
  
Who was he kidding when he thought to himself that he might’ve ever had a chance?  He’d looked into your eyes so many times, searching for the expression of someone who felt the same way about him that he felt about you.  
  
And he never found it.  Not once, not even in your closest moments, like that time you never talked about anymore when you went skinny dipping together, not ever.  
  
And that was fine.  
  
He was fine.  
  
That was what he told himself as he walked back out to the car he’d ended up buying just because you didn’t have a driver’s license and you always wanted him to drive you places in Papyrus’ car, but his little brother was getting annoyed at how often he stole it.  He climbed into the driver’s seat with a heavy sigh, relieved of the burden of your boyfriend’s presence, but still weighed down by the small suit folded over his arm and the thought of having to dig out that soulstone ring when he got home.  
  
He was fine.  
  
Even when the radio started playing a song about needing someone, and feeling like you were shriveling away in their absence.  
  
_I need my girl  
I need my girl  
I’m under the gun again  
I know I was a 45 percenter then  
I know I was a lot of things  
  
_ He was fine.  
  
Even when tears that he didn’t even realize were building up created cold, thin paths down each of his cheeks.  Even when they kept coming, like a drizzle turning to a downpour, so much he needed to blink through them like his eyelids were windshield wipers.  
  
He was crying so much he couldn’t blink away the tears fast enough.  As soon as one followed the last down his cheek, the next was there to replace it, and even before that, sometimes, yet another would create a new path down next to the trails that were already there.  He was a crying mess.   He couldn’t stop.  He couldn’t see.  He couldn’t drive, and he had to pull off into the first parking lot he saw before he caused an accident trying to navigate the road that had turned into a great big conglomeration of water-distorted lights.  
  
He ended up parked in front of a pizza place that closed its doors to the public in ten minutes, clutching the suit he’d just bought and crying into it because it was the only immediately available thing to dry the tears and muffle the horrible noises bubbling up from deep inside his chest.  
  
_But I am good, I am grounded  
Davey says that I look taller  
But I can’t get my head around it  
I keep feeling smaller and smaller  
I need my girl  
I need my girl…  
  
_ He was fine.  
  
It hurt so much.  He had to lie down.  
  
He was fine…  
  
He reclined his seat all the way back and curled up on his side, fresh new best-man suit still pressed to his face so firmly he felt like he might manage to suffocate himself with it even though he didn’t need to breathe.  
  
The funny thing was, no matter how much it ended up hurting him in the end, he still didn’t wish that he’d never fallen in love with you.  
  
Because being in love with you was the most amazing feeling in the world.  He wished he could’ve stayed in that cocoon of quiet awe and admiration and butterflies in his stomach at 3 in the morning forever.  
  
It was _realizing_ that he was in love with you that screwed it all up.  
  
He wished he’d never realized he was in love with you.  But he wanted to hold on for dear life to that feeling of loving you.  
  
He'd never wish that part away.  
  
Never.


	3. I'll Still Love You Anyways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have a fun game-- try and guess where I teared up while writing this chapter.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”  
  
Sans had told you once about the funny fact that, as a kid, for some reason, he thought that was the opening to a funeral, not a wedding.  He hadn’t thought about that in awhile.  But today it seemed pretty appropo.  
  
As always, when the time came, he just let the shitshow wash over him and carry him away and straight down a waterfall of raw sewage.   
  
He didn’t cause any trouble as far as the engagement ring was concerned—he handed it over as promised.  
  
He helped the two of you find someone to forge special matching soulstone wedding rings for you, because you loved the engagement ring so much.  
  
He didn’t try to fight his way out of being the best man at your wedding.  He shut his mouth and cozied up to the groom, because that was what the best man was supposed to do, and he knew it would hurt your future husband’s feelings, and possibly sour his wedding day, if he didn’t.  He played nice and tied his bowtie for him, even though he had to stretch his arms up to reach and glance over at the WikiHow article on his phone, and talked sweetly about you with him.  
  
Your groom was nervous, but only about being up in front of so many people.  He was shy, so of course he got stage fright easily.  But he made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t nervous about marrying you.  He was talking himself in goddamn circles again, gushing about how excited he was about finally being able to call himself your husband, and call you his wife, and how he was pretty sure he was going to introduce himself from now on as _your husband_ even if it wasn’t relevant to the conversation, hell, even if you weren’t even THERE, and how he’d been dreaming of this day since he was a little kid, and how he must be making so many men (and women!) green with envy by marrying the most amazing woman in the world on this beautiful day and ow excuse me Sans but I don’t think the bowtie is supposed to be that tight…  
  
“as her best friend,” Sans had told him, still holding the bowtie just a little too uncomfortably tight around the much taller man’s neck,  “i just want you to know.  if it gets back to me that you ever hurt her, you’re a dead son of a bitch.  capiche?”  
  
Hopefully the groom chalked that up to some kind of overprotective big brother instinct.  Sans wasn’t sure.  He only loosened and retied the bowtie once your eager fiancé nodded and squeaked out something about “I’d rather die than ever hurt her.”  
  
The worst part of being the best man was having to stand at the front of the room, next to the lucky man of the hour, just as finely dressed as he, and having to constantly fight back to urge to be a pathetic bastard and _pretend_ like the roles between him and the groom were switched.  He felt watched, by him and by you and by the crowd.  He felt like if he let his poker face slip for a moment, it would all come spilling out and the whole day would be ruined.  
  
Your chance at happiness.  Ruined.  
  
He couldn’t do that to you.  
  
“If there is anyone in attendance who has cause to believe that this couple should not be joined in marriage, you may speak now or forever hold your peace.”  
  
_Sans looked at you.  You looked back at him, lips frozen in a smile.  Then your groom did, too, turning a full 180 and folding his hands in front of him, as if patiently anticipating an answer.  When he looked out across the audience in attendance, they were all looking at him, too.  All of you, staring.  Expressionless.  Except for you.  You were smiling.  
  
As if frozen in time.  Forcing him down a timeline where he took his very last opportunity to be honest with you.  
  
He turned to you, and he told you the truth, taking your hands in his and addressing you by your full name before continuing:  
  
“i know i’ve got nothing to really offer you.  i’m not good-looking.  i’m a monster, and i know that wouldn’t matter to you, but still, it’d mean trouble for you.  my jokes are dumb.  my pranks are annoying.  i’ve never been able to tell you what i’m feeling.  i’ve hurt you sometimes.”  
  
That was a crushing thing to remind himself of.  Tears pricked the bottoms of his eye sockets, and he stared at the ground in shame.  
  
“I know i’ve hurt you,” he repeated, so softly only you could hear it.  “and i’m sorry.  i’m so, so sorry.  for hurting you.  for being a walled-off, aloof asshole who took so long processing his own feelings that he didn’t make enough time to consider yours.  for hiding my thoughts and feelings from you, even if it meant lying to you, all just so i didn’t have to talk about it.  do you even know how much i want to talk about it now?  i—…”  He trailed off, his throat tightening to the point he couldn’t form words, and had to fill the space between rubbing the tears away on his sleeve.  “it’s so stupid!  i’m so stupid.  why didn’t i want to talk about it?  i was the happiest i’d ever been in my entire life, and it was because of you.  you deserved to know that, but i never told you.  
  
“i’ve seen a million, million timelines, but because i have to go and distance myself from everyone i love, i’ll never know what would’ve happened in the one where i told you how much you mean to me, and let you make your own decision about all this, and…  whatever you chose, you could move forward knowing everything there is to know.  
  
“it’s too late, but even though it isn’t worth a goddamn thing now, i still want you to know that i love you.  you’re amazing like i never knew a person could be, let alone—” he heaved out a breath, somewhere between sobbing and hyperventilating,  “a human, i mean…  a lot of the time.  considering what happened in the underground.  i just felt like my feelings were…  anesthetized.  like i could hardly feel anything at all.  but being with you always made me forget that it was like that.  with you, i _ felt _things again.  things i felt before, and even things i didn’t._  
  
_“i love you as my friend.  i love you as the one who’s supported me the most through one of the hardest times in my life.  i love you as my pun pal, my partner in time, my soulmate.  i love you as…  everything.  i can’t imagine loving you some new way that i don’t love you already._  
  
_“i love you enough to place my hope in a future and forget all about the fact that it could be reset.  to live my life like i’ve only got one shot at it.  to place meaning in everything._  
  
_“i love you enough to find a way to give you the ring i was supposed to give to the one who made my soul sing, because that person is you._  
  
_“i love you enough to do anything for you, even if it seems impossible._  
  
_“i love you enough to let you go.”_  
  
Of course, none of that happened, not past the part where Sans looked at you.  It was all in Sans’ racing mind.  You didn’t look back at him.  You were staring at your groom, dazed and excited smile on your face.  This was a pivotal moment—nobody even glanced in Sans’ direction.  
  
That was fine.  He didn’t want them to.  Because he did what he’d always done best.  
  
He did what he deserved.  
  
He forever held his peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey
> 
> Hey hey hey
> 
> If you're sad about all this
> 
> Just imagine Reader, Reader's husband, and Sans all agreeing to a healthy polyamorous relationship a couple years later
> 
> Life hacks!!! *dabs tragically*


End file.
